


heaven help a fool who falls in love

by cllarkes



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoo Artist!Emori, with cameos by clarke and raven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cllarkes/pseuds/cllarkes
Summary: Murphy comes in wanting a tattoo - nothing more, nothing less. Just some ink that will fit his brand.He certainly doesn't expect to fall in love with his tattoo artist.or, a memori tattoo shop au with tattoo artist!emori and hopelessly enamored murphy
Relationships: Emori/John Murphy (The 100)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	heaven help a fool who falls in love

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the t100 Fic for BLM Initiative. You can learn more about us [here!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)
> 
> Thank you to whoever submitted this prompt! I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Title from "Ophelia" by The Lumineers
> 
> Moodboard credits go to the amazing [excuseyouclarke.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excuseyouclarke/)

Murphy has always wanted a tattoo.

In fact, people are usually surprised when he tells them that he doesn’t have a single one on his body. Not even a really small one or one in an obscure place that he easily covers up with his clothes.

He supposes that a tattoo would fit his brand. Not just any tattoo, of course - the in-your-face kind of tattoo that’ll make people tell him he’ll regret getting it once he’s seventy, or some hipster-y tattoo that’ll fit his aloof and slightly mysterious nature. No in between. 

But there’s just one problem - he hates needles. Makes sense, considering he grew up surrounded by ones that belonged to his parents (none of them used for the purpose of tattoos, obviously). If that fear wasn’t there, he’s sure he would be covered in ink and piercings by now, but alas.

Still, he really wants a damn tattoo.

He decides to bite the bullet and enter the land of no return when he asks Clarke for a recommendation while they’re out at their favorite burger joint. He knows that once his friends hear that he’s _finally_ serious about getting one, they won’t let him hear the end of it until it’s permanently etched onto his skin.

Clarke just got “I love you” in her late father’s handwriting done on her wrist, and she won’t stop showing it off, constantly rolling up her sleeves and refusing to wear bracelets on that arm lest it become hidden. He’s seen Clarke’s dad’s handwriting before, and it’s pretty damn impressive how perfectly the artist was able to copy it.

“I went to this place downtown called Dead Zone Body Art. Ask for Emori - I don’t know her last name, but her first name doesn’t sound too common so they should know who you’re talking about. She’s super nice and understanding and totally won’t make fun of your fear of needles,” Clarke tells him with a wink.

He looks up the parlor when he gets back home and scrolls through the staff page until he finds the Emori girl that Clarke mentioned. She has an elaborate tattoo on one half of her face that immediately piques his interest. _She’s kinda cute_ , he finds himself thinking, but quickly shakes that thought off and clicks on a drop-down to view her work.

She’s definitely talented too, judging by the photos that he browses through. He sees minimalist outlines, beautiful calligraphy, elaborate sleeves, and even Clarke’s wrist makes an appearance. This girl can do it all, which is both good and bad for him. Good, because she’ll probably be willing to tackle whatever request he throws at her. Bad, because it means his indecisive ass has more content to choose from. He might as well make a Pinterest account because he knows he’ll be scrolling through pictures of other people’s tattoos for hours.

He clicks the ‘Book Appointment’ button next to her name. There’s no going back now.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


When the day of his appointment rolls around, Murphy finds himself surprised by how excited he is, as opposed to the nerves that always overtook him whenever he used to think of tattoos (or anything that involved needles, really). 

He supposes that Clarke’s recommendation put him at ease, but even more than that, he could tell just from looking at Emori’s photo that he could trust her. He can’t explain it - but it was there.

Maybe he’s just being shallow and only thinks he can trust her because he thinks she’s good looking. Sue him.

His suspicions are confirmed once he makes it through all the paperwork he has to sign and is finally seated in the leather chair. Emori’s even more gorgeous than she was in the photo, he notices right away, with her long, wavy brown hair bouncing at her shoulder as she walks over to him. She smiles at him, her eyes kind. “Hi there. You’re John Murphy?”

He finds himself flustered. Shit. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. “Yeah. Hi. I’m Murphy and I want a tattoo.” He groans internally. _Way to go, captain obvious_.

If Emori thinks he’s an embarrassing disaster, she doesn’t show it. She starts gathering her equipment, placing it on the small table at his side, acting like he hasn’t just made a fool of himself.

“My friend Clarke recommended you,” he says, hoping to break the tension. “Clarke Griffin.”

Emori puts down the ink she was arranging and scrunches her forehead. “I’m really bad with names. Do you remember what Clarke got done?”

“She got ‘I love you’ on her wrist in her dad’s handwriting. She won’t stop showing it off.”

Emori’s eyes light up. “That was one of my favorite requests that I’ve gotten. I’m so glad she likes it,” she says. He can hear the pride in her voice. It’s adorable.

“Unfortunately for you, though, I’m not into that sentimental shit.”

“That’s fine,” says Emori, sitting down on a stool next to his chair. “What can I get for you, then?”

He takes his phone out and shows her his reference: the silhouette of a foggy forest with rocky mountain peaks towering in the background that he wants on his right forearm. Based on her other work, it doesn’t seem like something she’ll flat out say no to.

She studies it carefully. “You want this on your inner forearm, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I can definitely do that, but did you know that you’ll have to come in at least one more time?”

He does know that. He did his research beforehand in order to avoid sounding clueless, and he knows that a tattoo that large and elaborate will take hours and more than one visit to complete. 

But, her voice sounds angelic to him, and he wants to hear it as much as he can, so he pretends to act confused and eagerly listens as her eyes light up again and she eagerly explains exactly how long she thinks the process will take. It’s impossible for her to hide how knowledgeable and passionate she is about the art of tattoos, and he can feel a smile playing on his lips as she talks and talks. 

When she’s done explaining, she starts prepping the needles and the machine. He must have visibly flinched at the needle, because Emori reaches out to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, relax. The forearm is one of the least painful places on the body for tattoos. It won’t hurt that much, I promise.”

“Sorry,” he says, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. Normally he’d feel the need to act all tough and give her a long speech about how he’s not scared of anything, especially not pain, but something about Emori’s presence relaxes him and makes him feel like he doesn’t need to mask his fear. “I haven’t had the best experience with needles. With my rough childhood and all.” 

Thankfully, Emori doesn’t feel the need to press him any further about that topic. She starts prepping and cleaning his skin, and every time her gloved hand makes contact with his arm, he gets goosebumps.

What the _hell_ is happening to him?

He’s patient, watching her focus so intently on everything she does as she finishes cleaning up and moves onto the next step. He supposes that’s what any good tattoo artist should do, but she’s more intense than anyone he’s ever seen, in a good way, and it fascinates him.

When the needle finally makes contact with his skin, he inhales sharply and grits his teeth, doing his best to stay completely still. 

“You’re doing really well, John,” says Emori as she continues with the linework.

“Right.”

She laughs. “Trust me, I’ve seen grown men twice your size shed more than just a few tears because it hurts. It happens to everyone.”

He nods, then groans softly. It isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it’s definitely something that he’ll have to get used to. It’ll be worth it, though.

It gets better sooner than later, and he finds himself making smalltalk with Emori, the conversation flowing easily. They tell each other about where they grew up, what they had studied in college (he learns that, like him, Emori had dropped out after her second year after deciding that it just wasn’t for her), and other little tidbits about each other's lives.

The hours fly by, and before he knows it, she’s pressing a protective bandage to his arm and giving him instructions for aftercare.

“Wow,” is all he can say. The product, though only half finished, is even better than he had hoped for. It has the sharpness of the reference photo he showed to Emori, and she’s added her own little flair to it, making it uniquely _hers_.

“It’ll look even better when it’s done,” she promises with a playful smirk. “I’ll see you again in two weeks, then.”

Two weeks can’t come soon enough.

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


To his credit, Murphy tries, _really fucking hard_ , to stop thinking about her.

Clarke must have told the rest of the gang that he was finally going through with his promise of getting inked, because the day after his first appointment, the group message is practically demanding that he tells them all the details and posts his new body art from ten different angles. He gladly sends them all the photos they want, but when Clarke mentions that they both saw the same artist and starts babbling about her wrist tattoo again (will she ever shut up about that thing?), he finds it impossible to avoid the topic of Emori. 

The group chat eventually moves onto other topics, but the topic of his tattoo and the healing process and the next appointment keeps coming up again and again, and with that come even more thoughts of Emori. It’s almost gotten to the point where he wants to mute the chat and ghost everyone for a couple of days until his ink is old news. If anyone asks, he’ll tell them that he dropped his phone down the stairs and had to put it in rice or something like that.

He falls down the YouTube rabbit hole of true crime documentaries and video game streams, but can only focus for about fifteen minutes before his mind drifts to other things. Other olive-skinned, brown eyed, face-tattooed things.

The bar he co-owns with Bellamy and Jasper provides him with ample distractions too, but at the end of the day, none of them are Emori and none of them are worth flirting with. 

(He pretends to act mildly interested in a few of them when Bellamy and Jasper are nearby because he _cannot_ have them asking any questions, but once they disappear from his view, he reverts back to the blasé attitude he’s adopted.)

It’s insane, he thinks, that anyone could spend this much time thinking about another person. He’s always thought that nobody else is worth it, but - and this terrifies him - Emori is. 

He even opens up the Instagram app for the first time in months and follows her tattoo account, figuring that it seems innocent enough. He scrolls all the way down to the oldest photo, to the first tattoo she ever did. Like everything else she’s done, it’s absolutely amazing, especially for someone’s first time. 

He even comments a smiley emoji under the photo she posted of his tattoo. And he _never_ uses emojis.

God, he’s fucked.

~ ~ ~

  
  


Somehow, he makes it through the two weeks. 

Nobody needs to know that he’s literally been counting down the days until his next appointment. And if anyone does find out, he’ll just say that he was excited for his tattoo to be finished. Never mind that he was excited to see the artist again.

By the time he’s seated and Emori walks in, his entire body is buzzing with electricity. He’s been rehearsing what he’s going to say and how he’s going to act, because he can’t pull the _I hate everyone and I’m not too fond of you_ attitude, but he’s not gonna go and play the obvious _Hey, I’ve been thinking of you for two weeks straight and it’s been torture, anyway how’s your day going_ card either. He just has to… play it cool, he guesses. Be nicer than usual, but not daring to give anything away.

His body gets used to the needle much faster this time, and he and Emori quickly fall into a conversation.

He decides to ask her about the tattoo on her face: a thick, black line on the left side of her face that follows the arch of her eyebrow, drops down the bridge of her nose, and elegantly swirls across her cheek. 

“It’s cultural. When members of the _Sangeda_ tribe turn eighteen, we choose a tattoo from a book of designs that goes on a specific part of your body. It’s been that way for hundreds of years. Each tattoo symbolizes a different value that means something to the tribe. Most of them are smaller and in areas that can easily stay hidden, but this one… this one stands for pride. Pride in the tribe, because everyone who looks at your face can see you’re a part of _Sangeda_ ,” she explains.

“Some assholes must give you a lot of shit for that,” he mutters, already feeling angry on her behalf. He can only imagine the kinds of comments she must get from close-minded individuals who want to dictate what strangers do with their bodies.

“Occasionally. But I don’t care. I have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. I’m proud to be a _Sangeda_ , and I could care less if that makes someone uncomfortable,” she says, shrugging. “That’s the thing I like the most about working here: nobody judges you. People come in here to get all kinds of tattoos and piercings, and everyone’s cool with it. Loads of my clients ask about my tattoo, and I’m more than happy to tell them about it because I know they’ll be respectful.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Murphy muses, eyes glued to the left side of her face. “The tattoo _and_ the history behind it.”

She stops working on his arm for a second, gazing into his eyes with a soft smile. “Thank you, John.”

Her eyes stay locked with his for a long moment, and it feels like all the oxygen has left the room. They eventually snap out of it, and Emori goes back to shading in the peaks of the mountains on his arm.

Something changes after that. They don’t talk for the rest of the appointment, just making occasional, short-lived eye contact every now and then. The finished product is once again even better than he had expected and he thanks her so many times that it makes her laugh and she has to stop him from saying it again.

They say bye, and he leaves. It takes about five minutes before the regret sets in.

He felt something the day he met her, he felt it as he waited two weeks to see her again, and he felt it again as they looked into each other's eyes. He thought it was one-sided at first, but now, he’s almost certain that she felt it too.

He should have gotten her number.

~ ~ ~

  
  


A few weeks later, Raven tells him that she’s seriously considering getting a tattoo, and he’s quick to encourage her.

She wants one of those tiny minimalist ones - the outline of a raven on her ankle. Murphy tells her about Dead Zone and shows her Emori’s Instagram account.

“She did Clarke’s wrist too. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the best artist in town.”

Raven giggles. “Because you’re such an expert on tattoos.”

“Fuck off,” he says with a smile. “So are we booking an appointment or not?”

His friend looks at him with a raised brow. “ _We?_ ”

Murphy takes his phone back from her, finger hovering over the ‘Book Appointment’ button. “I might as well get another tattoo. And, I’ll be there as moral support for when you get scared.”

“I _never_ get scared, you cockroach!”

“Right.” He clicks the button and starts typing in his and Raven’s information. “Does Tuesday at six work for you?”

Raven nods, and it’s set. 

He’ll see Emori again in four days. He’ll get another tattoo. Then, Raven will get her first tattoo and gush about how Murphy recommended Emori to her, and he’ll look like the saint who wouldn’t let his friend get her first tattoo all alone - that’ll score him some points with her for sure. 

Once that’s done, he’ll go for it and finally ask her number. She’ll say yes, and the rest will be history. Hopefully.

For now, all he has to worry about is what his next tattoo will be.

~ ~ ~

  
  


“Is this your girlfriend?” Emori asks as Murphy and Raven walk into her room.

Murphy laughs. “Ha, no. This is Raven, my _friend_.”

Emori nods, and she looks almost _relieved_. Like she’s glad that he is, as far as she knows, single. She turns to Raven and gives her a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Raven.”

Murphy offers to go first, to “ease Raven’s nerves” (not that she needs it), and because it’s been too long since he’s seen Emori and felt her gloved touch on his skin.

He requests the small silhouette of an eagle with its wings spread on one side of his abdomen. He figures it won’t take too long, and… well…

When he takes off his shirt and Emori gets a good look at his abs, he swears he hears her draw in a sharp breath.

As she works on him, she spends most of her time explaining the process to Raven and making sure she feels comfortable. Every once in a while, though, she’ll make eye contact with Murphy and hold his gaze for a little longer than he had expected.

Raven’s buzzing with excitement when it’s her turn, and in no time at all, all three of them are chatting like old friends, with Murphy and Emori easily falling back into their old pattern of conversation.

The mood is light by the time Emori finishes up and bandages Raven’s tattoo. When Raven excuses herself to use the restroom, he sees it as the perfect opportunity.

He’s totally got this.

“Wait, Emori!” he calls out, right as she starts to leave.

She turns around and suddenly he’s not so sure anymore.

See, he’s never actually asked a girl for her number. Not like this, anyway. Most of the girls he meets are drunken hookups from the bar, and it doesn’t hurt him at all if they reject him before anything happens, or if they leave before he wakes up the next morning.

But with Emori, he’s scared. He’s scared that she’ll reject him, that she’ll say no. If she does reject him, he’ll respect it and leave her alone - of course he will, he has basic human decency and she doesn’t owe him anything. But that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. 

He’s scared to even try.

Before he can change his mind again and face potential heartbreak, he shakes his head and offers her an awkward grimace. “Nevermind.”

She returns his grimace, tells him goodnight, and turns back around. He keeps his eyes on her back as she walks down the hall and rounds the corner, disappearing from his sight.

 _Fuck_. He blew it.

Raven returns a moment later and nods at him. They leave the parlor and start making their way home, Raven looking ecstatic and Murphy looking grim.

“You were right, Emori’s great!” Raven says. 

Murphy doesn’t respond. He’s glad that his friend had such a good experience, but he’s not in the mood to chat about the girl he ended up being too scared of giving his number to.

“She's cute too, isn’t she?” Raven nudges him in the ribs once they’re done, a knowing look on her face.

“I guess,” he mutters, doing his best to sound completely disinterested - even though it’s quite obvious she’s teasing him.

Raven rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, Murphy. I’m not an idiot. I saw the heart eyes you were making when she was talking to you.”

“You didn’t see shit.”

“Murphy,” says Raven, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. “I _know_ you. I know how you are, and I’ve never seen you act like that around anyone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he keeps walking.

“ _Murphy!_ ”

This time he stops and turns around. Raven’s speed walking his way, pointing a finger at him. “You’re in love, John Murphy. Don’t even try to deny it.”

He is. He’s in love. 

It must show on his face, because Raven immediately softens. “Murphy, if you’re in love, you can’t keep beating around the bush like this. Just ask her out.”

He sighs. “I tried to ask for her number, but I chickened out. Emori’s different, you know? If she says no, it’ll actually hurt.”

“What do you have to lose?” Raven asks. “It’ll suck if she says no, but what if she says yes? You’ll never know if you don’t even try.”

Murphy lets out a breath through gritted teeth. She’s right. He has to take that leap of faith and hope for the best.

“Promise me you’ll go back there and get her number,” Raven’s eyes bore into him with the Raven Reyes intensity he knows and loves. She smirks at him. “I can even go with you for moral support since you’ll _definitely_ need it,” she jokes.

With a laugh, he declines her offer, but promises that he’ll go back before the end of the week.

  
  


~ ~ ~ 

  
  


Murphy keeps his promise - partly because he knows Raven will drag him to Dead Zone herself if she finds out he didn’t go through with it, but mostly because he knows he’d be a fool to not act on his feelings.

Emori’s one of a kind, and he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try to shoot his shot.

He goes back two days later, after plenty of pep talks from Bellamy and Jasper, and walks up to the front desk. “I need to see Emori,” 

“Do you have an appointment?” asks the receptionist, looking up from her laptop.

“No, but I don’t need one. I just have to ask her something. It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise. Please.” he practically begs her. 

The receptionist checks something, clicking her tongue. “She’s free for the next half hour. Make it quick.”

He pretty much sprints to the room Emori always uses, and when she sees him, the shock is evident on her face.

“John. What are you doing here? You didn’t schedule an appointment for today.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “I only have half an hour until my next client. If you want a tattoo, it’s gonna have to be tiny, otherwise I can’t do it today.”

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “I didn’t come here for a tattoo.”

Emori frowns. “Did you want a piercing? I don’t do those, but I can see if my brother Otan is available—”

“I want your number,” he blurts out.

Emori gapes at him, the words not quite sinking in.

He clears his throat again and forces himself to keep eye contact with her. “I want your number,” he repeats. “I want your number so that I can text you when I get home and then take you out to dinner sometime. I want your number because, believe it or not, I _like_ you, Emori.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and Murphy’s worried that he fucked up. Shit, did he come on too strong? How many other assholes come in here every day just to hit on her? 

He opens his mouth to apologize, but doesn’t get the chance, because her whole face breaks out in a full-on smile. It’s the most beautiful thing Murphy’s seen in his entire life. 

“And where would you like my number,” she jokes, “On your free arm, or on your chest?”

“Very funny. My phone is just fine.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and hands it over to her, watching her type. “I’ll text you, and then you can text me back. Or ignore me if you want. It’s up to you. But if you want to, we can make plans. For dinner and stuff” 

He’s aware of how flustered he is and knows he must be turning red as a tomato. But he did it. He got through it. He asked the girl who’s been on his mind since the first time they met for her number, and that girl is currently smiling at him, eyes twinkling, as she reaches out to gently grab his wrist. She runs her fingers over the black ink of his first tattoo, the forest silhouette that started it all.

“Dinner sounds perfect.”

  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  


Five years later, Murphy lays down on the chair, takes off his shirt, and has Emori tattoo her name on his chest, right above where his heart lies.

He once swore he’d never do anything like this. It was the worst idea, he thought, because what the hell are you supposed to do if you break up? Yeah, tattoo removal is always an option, but that sounds like too much trouble for something that could have been avoided in the first place. 

Plus, it wouldn’t fit his brand.

But what he has with Emori is different, he knows it. He’s never cared much for anyone in his life other than himself, but he’s certain that he’d do anything for Emori.

Over the years, he’s added a number of tattoos - a full sleeve on his left arm, and various single tattoos on his chest, back, and legs. All of them were done by Emori, and she traces them with her fingers absentmindedly through the day and presses kisses to them late at night when they lay in bed.

“I thought you weren’t into that sentimental shit,” Emori says as she finishes up. “That’s what you told me the day we met.”

He looks up at this woman he loves with his entire being, the woman that has become his universe, and whispers, “I am when it comes to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you thought - all feedback is greatly appreciated :)


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